Member of poetry i-d in Letchworth, Herts Recently published in Poetry News and due for twelve more publications in 2011, for which I'll receive the price of a pie and a pint! After miserably failing English A-level was told by teacher that I had a true poetic response and to use it. Remembering this thirty years later and encouraged by girlfriend Cristina Watkins to start writing, I have settled into what I am told is my own voice having covered a variety of styles from comic to tragic, both of which I revisit in error from time to time..... Now looking to push my poetry further on and have swapped a hobby mentality to semi-pro after a succesful run of mag acceptances etc. I initiated the concept of Poetry in Shops for the Letchworth Festival in 2011 and co-ordinated the poetry in the first George Orwell Festival September 2011. Fan of Selected verse rather than Collected; big fan of Welldon Kees, Don Paterson, Charles Bukowski, Billy Collins. Feedback welcomed should you desire. Blog is at garethwriterdavies.wordpress.com
MISSING I am seeing you busy with spices and marzipan the 20w whisk stirs the air sticky with the frankincense of christmascake the whistle ready kettle is calling last orders to the coffee cups and six chocolate soldiers are drunk at their posts legless send the children away to search the dust take the blackening flag from the window you see that eastern star? I lie within its dark motive watching you BROKEN EARTH The sense of winter lies beneath broken earth and a dog mist that tracks the sweeping of leaves the chopping of wood the hot mug of acorn tea your hair still blazes with autumn your gaze is gun blue but the heavy iron tread of winter is breaking you do not resist the ice crystals; sleep there will be mountains to build a sea of lakes a harvest to steal you will need your diamonds iron does not rest NO ROSES this is an old cottage with no roses and thick black ice in a spode bowl on the other side of a four plank door dai jones braces by his knees stands smoking what he reckons to be his last cigarette sparks are dust as he bruises the stub he combs his hair straightens his tie breaks the key in the lock returns to bed waits COOKHAM IN WINTER You notice, that The river is wider than the field Where sheep munch turnip tops And the scarecrow Is a superspy, asleep on the job But that is not important Stanley, the painter Paints a summer scene, apples Ripe on the bough, the long grass Shaking with maidens The money is good Winter is his naked season When the dead Float down the high street And river gulls Are the nearest things to angels As he murders his wife Not for the first time Cookham is always upside down And a man with visions Needs careful watching Jesus rented rooms there once He was found up a creek With no paddle Stanley had an alibi The sheep are now Wearing wellingtons The scarecrow is their dinner
All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.
HAPPIEST ON HER BACK (25/09/2012)
TEA DANCE (02/01/2012)
THE UNCERTAIN NARCISSIST (10/03/2011)
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